The Burning Land

by John Fletcher

  Yes, Matthew thought. I believe you are. More fool you.

  He couldn’t imagine sharing a girl with anyone.

  The next time he had a day off, Matthew went into Amherst again. There was nowhere else to go. He did not intend to call on Janice Honeyman. Instead he had a drink at the Royal Hotel where he got talking to an old-timer who worked as a shepherd on Currawong.

  Joe Oates, grey beard down to his waist and pale blue eyes veined with red, was well on the way by the time Matthew joined him and obviously had every intention of completing the journey before the day was out.

  ‘Times ’a’ changed,’ he declared. ‘Dear life, I mind what twere like when I first come ’ere. Thirty-one year ago.’ The red-veined eyes watered sentimentally as he downed his glass and called for another one. ‘Wouldn’t know it fer the same place.’

  ‘What brought you out here?’ Matthew asked.

  ‘Convict, weren’t I? Come out in eleven on the Providence. One o’ they ’ell ships, she were. Tha’s what they called ’em. ’Ell be name an’ ’ell be nature. Corpses all over. That Cap’n Barclay, him what was the master, right royal bastard ’e were.’

  ‘Git away wiv you.’ A long thin man of about thirty with a narrow, frowning face and backswept black hair turned from the bar. ‘Them convict ships wasn’t so bad, not what I ’eard. Early ones, mebbe, but not them what come later.’

  Joe Oates looked affronted, baring his almost toothless gums. ‘Wouldn’t know, would ee? Seein’ ee warn’t there. Warn’t even pupped, by God. What the ’ell do ee know, eh?’

  ‘Enough to know when I’m ’earing a load of old rubbish.’

  ‘Ole rubbish?’ Joe Oates staggered to his feet, enraged hands clutching at the air. ‘I’ll give ee rubbish …’

  ‘Shut yore face, Joe,’ the barman said. He turned to the thin-faced man. ‘An’ you’d best not rile ’im up either.’

  The man looked back at him. ‘Or what?’

  Jacob set his elbows on the bar. ‘Or I’ll chuck you out in the street.’

  Joe Oates subsided, grumbling. ‘Don’ know what he’s talkin’ ’bout,’ he confided to Matthew.

  ‘You lived here ever since?’

  ‘Since I finished me time. Worked for old man Peter Larkin, him what was a trooper in the New South Wales Corps, then when he passed on I got a job as a shepherd up at Currawong.’

  From the bar the thin man said, ‘’Appen you’ll know the truth ’bout the gold they says people bin findin’?’

  Joe stared at him. ‘Who’s asking?’

  ‘Schultz is my name,’ the man said.

  ‘Could tell ee a tale ’bout gold, I could,’ Joe said and frowned, remembering how Schultz had not believed his account of the hellships. ‘If I’d a mind to, that is.’

  ‘Perhaps I can offer you a drink?’ Schultz said. ‘To ease yore throat, like?’

  Joe had his pride. ‘Why should I waste my time talkin’ when ee don’ believe a word I say?’

  ‘Wasn’t that I didn’ believe yer, old man,’ Schultz said and gestured to Jacob to fill up Joe’s glass. ‘More surprised, like.’

  ‘Jes listen another time,’ Joe told him with dignity. ‘Mebbe that way you’ll learn somen, see?’

  ‘Learn me somen about the gold, then. See if I believes that.’

  ‘Well, now …’ Joe sucked at his new drink, enjoying being the centre of attention for once. ‘People bin findin’ dribs an’ drabs o’ gold round ’ere long as I can remember. Never found nothin’ worth tuppence, mind, but that’s ’cause they didn’ know how to look, see. Hadn’ got no eyes. Them ’as got eyes to see,’ Joe said, ‘let ’em see.’

  ‘You got eyes?’ Schultz asked.

  ‘Best eyes in the district. Best eyes in the colony. I seed things you wouldn’ believe, in my time.’

  ‘Things like gold?’

  ‘Mebbe,’ the old man murmured, the drink beginning to take him. ‘Mebbe.’

  ‘Got a few dribs and drabs as you call ’em stashed away yourself, I wouldn’t wonder,’ Schultz said.

  Joe closed one eye and laid a horny finger along the side of his nose. ‘See no evil, tha’s my motto. Shut yer ears, won’ ’ear no lies.’

  And with that they all had to be satisfied. Gently, with the air of a job well done, Joe Oates laid his head on the table before him and began to snore.

  ‘Thank the Lord for that,’ Jacob said. ‘Once ’e gets on ’bout gold there’s no stopping ’im.’

  ‘True, is it?’ Schultz asked casually. ‘Reckon ’e’s got gold ’idden away?’

  ‘Might ’ave,’ Jacob said. ‘They say there ain’t no smoke without fire.’ He pointed with his chin at Joe’s form slumped over the table. ‘There’s been enough smoke from that one to light a whole bushfire, God knows.’

  Matthew finished his drink, went out into the sunshine and came face to face with Janice Honeyman. She was dressed as before in a long white dress, carried a white parasol open above her head and on a thin red lead led a small dog with bug eyes and a curling tail.

  ‘Mr Curtis …’ Her smile was as knowing as ever. ‘So you have come back to Amherst after all.’

  ‘I said I might. And,’ he added, ‘I have been drinking, too, as you foresaw.’

  ‘But not to the point of falling down, I trust?’

  She had a fancy way of speaking, like Dorian.

  ‘I trust you would pick me up if I did.’

  ‘Me?’ She made her eyes go round. ‘I would put my nose in the air and walk past on the other side.’

  ‘Like the priest and the good Samaritan,’ Matthew said wryly.

  ‘But since you have not fallen down,’ she said, ‘the question does not arise.’

  ‘So I shall never know if I’m glad or sorry.’ He wondered where he had found the words to talk to her like this. ‘It’s a hot day. Anywhere around here to go swimming?’

  The tip of a pink tongue touched her lips. ‘There’s a waterhole in the creek, a couple of miles upstream.’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  ‘Not easy to find, though.’

  ‘You’d better show me where it is then.’

  Her brown eyes watched him. ‘What will people say if they see me leaving town with Matthew Curtis?’

  He looked up and down the empty street. ‘There’s no one to see.’

  ‘They’re there, all right. Behind the windows.’

  ‘You mean people are watching us now?’

  ‘You can bet on it.’

  Matthew worked his shoulders, feeling the weight of those unseen eyes upon him. ‘Two miles, you say?’

  ‘That’s right. A pool with trees.’

  ‘Will you come, then?’

  Again the pink tip of tongue. ‘We’ll see.’

  He nodded to her, making nothing of it, and walked on. When he reached his horse he mounted and rode down the hill until he came to the creek running along the valley bottom. There were trees and bushes all along the bank. They were greener than the surrounding countryside and the course of the river was easy to see. He followed it steadily, listening to the water as it chuckled its way downhill.

  At first Janice thought she would not go to meet Matthew. He wasn’t like the others. She had always been in control of her relationships. Things happened, or did not, as she decided. She did not like the idea of not being in control and, with Matthew Curtis, was not sure she would be, was not even sure she would wish to be.

  No, she thought, I will not go.

  In the end she changed her mind but decided instead to keep him waiting.

  She rode along the trail beside the creek, her horse’s hooves clattering on rocky outcrops that showed like clenched fists through the thin turf, and dismounted fifty yards from the pool. She walked the rest of the way, passing silently between the trees that lined the banks of the creek.

  With the others, she had always known they would be waiting. In Matthew’s case she had not been sure and was glad when she saw him sitting on the bank. His back was
to her and she came up close behind him before she spoke, the sound of her approach masked by the noise of the water.

  ‘Hello, Matthew.’

  He leapt an inch and she laughed.

  ‘Frighten you?’

  His smile kindled warmth in her. ‘Take more than you to frighten me.’

  ‘I thought you’d have been in already.’

  ‘I decided to wait for you.’

  ‘I might not have come.’

  ‘But you did.’

  ‘What if I hadn’t?’

  He laughed. ‘We’ll never know, will we?’

  He stood, stripping off his shirt. She watched the play of green-dappled light on the muscles of his arms and back.

  He raised an eyebrow at her. ‘Coming in?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’ll watch you.’

  ‘Please yourself.’

  He dived in, white skin shining through the glitter of the water. She watched him, knees drawn up beneath her skirt.

  ‘Come in,’ he urged her but she would not and he did not ask again.

  At length he climbed dripping from the pool and sat beside her. She saw the cold water had raised goosebumps on his skin. ‘Good?’ she asked.

  ‘You should have come in with me.’

  She looked at the sunlight rippling golden on the water. ‘And if someone had come?’

  ‘Who would come up here?’

  ‘One pair of eyes, that’s all it takes. And then trouble for both of us.’

  ‘We’ve done nothing.’

  ‘Not now, no.’ But knew she might not have been able to say that had she gone in. She had been right to refuse. She was glad she had refused. Then something took hold of her tongue and she said, ‘It would be different at night.’

  He looked at her. ‘At night?’

  She did not want this man to think she was a whore. There would be plenty to tell him that, but she did not want him to believe them. Yet now, having started, she seemed unable to stop. ‘No one can see when it’s dark.’

  ‘Would you come?’

  She watched his red tongue as he smiled. ‘I might.’

  ‘Wouldn’t your parents have something to say about that?’

  ‘My mother’s dead,’ she told him. ‘And Dad gets drunk every night. He doesn’t care what I do.’

  ‘Tonight?’ he said.

  ‘Will you come?’

  ‘If you do.’

  ‘Maybe.’ She watched the light gleam on his mouth.

  ‘You’ll have to do better than that.’

  She said, ‘Some people would be glad to have me say maybe.’

  ‘I’m not some people then. I’ll come up here soon as it’s dark. If you can make it, good. If you can’t, not to worry.’

  ‘How long will you wait?’

  It was his turn to laugh. ‘As long as I feel like it.’

  Once again she came up behind him but this time did not try to startle him. Instead she sat down silently at his side. She was shivering, hoped he would not notice.

  He did, of course. ‘Cold?’

  ‘A bit.’ But it was not cold that made her shiver. She wondered if he felt the same. She looked at the dark swirl of the water, the silver prick of stars reflected in the black.

  ‘Going in?’ she whispered.

  ‘If you are.’

  She said nothing. He stripped off his shirt and dived in. He turned towards her, his face grey in the starlight. ‘Come on.’

  She stood, heart going pit-a-pat. ‘Don’t look, then? You promise?’

  ‘Sure.’

  He turned away but those sort of promises meant nothing. She saw his head turn to watch her as she wriggled out of her dress.

  Let him, she thought recklessly. I’ll bet I’m not the first girl he’s seen. She would have liked him to respect her but had never learnt how to play that particular game. What difference does it make? she asked herself impatiently as she slithered down the bank. Either he likes me or he doesn’t.

  The water was cold but the heat of her body more than compensated for that. She crouched down, the water level with her shoulders. He waded towards her. She swam away from him across the pool, knowing he would come after her. She tried, not too hard, to avoid him, then felt his hands on her shoulders, calloused hands on the soft silk of her shoulders. Hot blood pulsed through her.

  He turned her to face him.

  ‘Don’t!’ She tried to eel away from him, but he took a firm hold and they both went under together. They came up again, gasping and choking, and he put his arm around her. The cold water and maybe something else puckered her nipples. His hand found one of them and the curve of her breast.

  ‘Don’t,’ she said again, softer now.

  She felt the length of his body against hers. He kissed her, lips hard and cold and exciting, and she kissed him back before they went under a second time and she escaped from him and headed for the bank.

  She whispered, ‘I’m getting out. Promise not to look?’

  ‘Of course I’ll look,’ he said. ‘I want to see you.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Get on,’ he said. ‘Looking can’t hurt you.’

  She scrambled up the bank, conscious of the silver glow of starlight on her skin, of him watching from the water. Drinking me in, she thought.

  She had brought a towel with her. She seized it and wrapped it firmly around her.

  He climbed out to join her. She looked away, chin lifted, but felt him grinning at her.

  ‘I hope you enjoyed the view,’ she sniffed.

  ‘Very much.’

  ‘I thought you were a gentleman.’

  He moved closer. ‘You sure it’s a gentleman you want?’ He put his hands on her shoulders. Goosebumps rose on her skin as he tugged the end of the towel.

  ‘Stop it!’

  She jerked away but the towel remained in his hand. He pulled it again, experimentally.

  ‘No!’ But this time did not move away.

  How will I ever get him to respect me if I let him behave like this? she thought. It mattered. She had brought men up here several times. It had never meant anything. This relationship was not like the other ones. It was important not to cheapen it. Yet knew, for all her wishes, that it was too late for that.

  He put his arms around her and kissed her, on and on. She was shaking now in earnest, her lips opening beneath his. She felt the tip of his tongue and shuddered. She felt his hands as they worked at the loosening towel.

  His skin cool against hers. That was what she remembered afterwards. She lay beside him on the grass, the murmur of the creek in her ears, the night air cool on her heated body. He touched her, there and there. She moaned deep in her throat. No talk of stop it now.

  She sensed him hesitate. A moment for surprise, for heightened tenderness. She took him, guiding.

  She remembered, too, how they travelled together beyond her initial apprehension to a surging delight so intense she heard herself cry out with the unexpected ecstasy of it. Afterwards there was silence, heart slowing, breath slowing, two bodies slick with sweat.

  ‘Mmm … I definitely underestimated Jim Jim,’ she murmured in his ear, knowing with self-contempt that this was wrong too. It was the image she had given the others, not the one she wanted him to have of her. She sat up, feeling his eyes watching her breasts as white as the flesh of apples in the starlight.

  Something made her say, ‘Your first time, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  He was angry, defensive, and she knew she had guessed right.

  ‘Because I know.’

  And because she did not want him to stay angry with her, because he was already more important to her than was wise, she slid her hand over him, reaching lower. He brushed her away, mortification covering him like a rash.

  ‘Come on.’ She breathed in his ear, smiling, and felt him respond. Her hand tightened, relaxed, tightened, moving rhythmically, without haste. ‘Don’t be shy …’

  Now he was touching h
er. Sensation speared her. She stopped thinking as feeling took over. And so again, drowning, cries choking into silence in each other’s mouths.

  Next morning, before it was light, Dorian came spurring his horse up to the shepherd’s hut.

  Matthew saw him coming and thought, Oh my God, he’s found out about Janice. He watched with apprehension as Dorian slid from his saddle and hurried towards him.

  ‘Joe Oates,’ Dorian said, breath gusting in his throat. ‘He’s dead. Murdered.’

  ‘Murdered?’

  ‘Shot and then clubbed to death. Found him an hour ago. Looks like he found someone going through his belongings and they turned on him.’

  Matthew thought immediately of the man in the hotel. ‘Any idea who might have done it?’

  ‘No. I came here in case you’d seen any strangers snooping about.’

  ‘Saw someone in town yesterday.’ Matthew told Dorian about the stranger who called himself Schultz and his conversation with Joe.

  ‘We’d better talk to him. Did he say where he was staying?’

  ‘Not to me. Jacob may know.’

  They spoke to Cusack and the three men rode into town together but Jacob knew no more about the stranger than Matthew did.

  ‘Didn’t say where he was going?’

  ‘Nuthin at all.’

  He could be miles away by now.

  They told Captain Noakes of the local militia. He said he would warn his patrols to keep an eye out for any stranger answering Matthew’s description. Otherwise they could do nothing.

  By September 1850 Matthew Curtis was a fully grown man, tall and strong with a massive chest and belly ribbed with muscle. His hair was still dark with a red flame in the sunlight, his beard a shade lighter and clipped square around his jaw.

  Towards the end of the month the shearers came through on their annual migration.

  ‘I’ll want you to take the clip to Melbourne,’ Cusack told Matthew.

  Matthew stared at him. ‘Don’t you use carriers?’

  ‘And pay their rates? You must be mad.’

  So in October Matthew took the road to Melbourne with the Glenmona clip.

  Four days out of Amherst they stopped for the night on the outskirts of Jim Jim.

  ‘I’m going to ride into town,’ Matthew told the drover boss.